


Erasure

by Hesesols



Series: Eclipse [6]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, IchiRuki Month, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, get the kleenex ready folks I ain't asking nicely, oh and cats, we love cats right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesesols/pseuds/Hesesols
Summary: The media likes to romanticize the soul mate phenomenon. Don't let it fool you. Having a soulmate sucks. Rukia should know. After all, she belongs to the exclusive one-in-a-million clique who has a soul mark and memories of her past self.In other words the IR Soul Mate/College/Reincarnation AU that you never knew you needed.
Relationships: Abarai Renji & Kuchiki Rukia, Inoue Orihime & Kuchiki Rukia, Kuchiki Rukia & Matsumoto Rangiku & Ise Nanao, Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo, Kurosaki Ichigo & Kurosaki Yuzu
Series: Eclipse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757437
Comments: 81
Kudos: 95
Collections: Ichiruki Month!





	1. fantasy vs reality

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Soulmate Continuum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9309827) by [AbsurditiesAbound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsurditiesAbound/pseuds/AbsurditiesAbound). 



_Part I_

.

The first time it happened she nearly gave her parents collective heart attacks.

Her screams woke the whole neighbourhood up with the police showing up on her front door. Concerns about potential domestic abuse going on in the household sent the neighbour's tongues wagging, enough to keep the gossip mills churning for years.

Her voice was hoarse, her throat sore and on fire from all the screaming, eyes swollen from the constant stream of tears.

Blood. There was so much blood.

They drenched the pavement, coating it sticky and the smell made her retch.

In her dreams, the boy dies- he always dies.

She was in pain, so much that she begged her parents to take it away- to drug her, to drown her; anything to stop her from dreaming. Her nightmares were always the same, night after night, a nonstop reel of autoplay; watching a boy- barely out of his teens, dressed in black with a shock of orange hair as loud and attention-grabbing as a neon sign- cut down before her very eyes and made to bleed out on the dirty pavement.

Her parents dragged her to occultists, priests, doctors, specialists of every kind who all scorned and simpered, thinking that the stories were greatly exaggerated, writing it off as typical attention-seeking behaviour from a child; in other words, absolutely nothing to be worried about at all. They were all wrong of course, but Rukia didn't blame them.

People rarely believe what they can't see.

No one would believe her and her parents until they were shown the taped recordings during one of her _episodes_. That's when people finally understood that there was nothing normal about the situation at all and rightfully so.

It's never normal for a twelve-year old to wake up screaming bloody murder about giants with masks, monsters with tentacles for arms; screaming about a boy that only she sees, bleeding out in some horrible dark alleyway.

.

.

.

_"It's still in the experimental stages."_

.

They- the scientists, grey-haired scholars with beards to match; some balding, others less so- finally found a diagnosis for her. It only took them two years- two years of screaming her voice hoarse, relying on sleeping aids so much that she develops a tolerance.

She's suffering from a sub-variant of Type A REM ( **R** eactive **E** xtrinsic response to soul **M** arking). The higher the grade, the more intense and varied the response was.

They believed that her soul mark- the barely-there faint stencil markings on her shoulder, tell-tale ink smudges of a lone crescent forming amidst an _ukiyo-e_ sea of clouds- triggered the nightmares.

Supposedly the bond between REM patients and their soulmates is too intense- _transcendent_ is the word the books seem fond of using- it defies laws of physics and science as they know it to manifest in reality. REM symptoms coincide with puberty when the markings first appear and are mostly mild- a sudden splash of colour in a previously monochromatic world, smelling something that isn't physically present; the little things that tease the human senses as the bond anchors into place.

The interactions between soul mates are still limited in those encounters, and only a handful of people have been known to transverse across dreams and actually see each other.

Her parents were both sceptical and horrified.

Did that mean that there really was a boy- her soul mate, her better half; bleeding to death in some seedy corner of the world?

Not exactly.

You see- this is where things got a little tricky.

Those dreams- memories, they corrected her- she was seeing weren't hers. Or rather they were- just not _her_ in the strictest sense of the word. They were memories of her from another lifetime ago. They couldn't come up with an explanation for the monsters but proof of parallel universes emerged as a strong contender, which then prompted a further discussion on whether time was linear and maybe it wasn't her past self but really they were seeing things through the eyes of another _her_ in another space and time.

Rukia's mind whirled. For simplicity's sake, she chose to believe that it was a her from a past life. That she was tapping into the memories of a dead Rukia as morbid as it was.

Regardless, they were so happy for her. It's a one-in-a-million kind of chance to know for a certainty what your soul mate looks like, they told her; like she should be grateful that she had been saddled with this _curse_.

.

_"Do you understand what I'm saying? The procedure is extremely risky."_

.

They wanted her to reconsider. After all, she said so herself; the memories weren't all bad. But they don't know how hard she had to push for them- for the dead girl to loosen her grip on those memories not tainted by loss. Once, she dreamed of them lying on a soft meadow, alone and utterly at peace with the world; cloud gazing as their shoulders touched. There was a stuffed lion too- annoying, loud, could use with a good rinse with soap and water too; but a friend nonetheless. She was teasing him about something, something about his namesake and he blushed; the colour clashing horribly with his bright hair.

And then, they were on a beach- the squelch of wet sand between her toes wonderfully disgusting, her sandals in one hand as they walked side by side and she made him laugh with something outrageous she said. He's older now. She could tell by the lines on his face, the scars on his body; but he still humoured her, bought her ice-cream under the guise of a feigned scowl that didn't stop him from leaning closer, stealing licks from the melting strawberries and cream when he thought she wasn't looking.

But she knew.

She always knew.

.

_"I think we should proceed with caution. Rukia is after all the youngest patient to be accepted into the trial."_

.

The white-haired man- his tag read Dr. J. Ukitake- neurologist- in front of her was strangely familiar. Not to her, maybe to the _her_ from another life. She's starting to hate her- the dead girl. She thinks she is almost jealous of her- jealous of the fact that she **had** him, could have been with him; could have been so _blissfully happy_ with him. Whenever their eyes meet, Rukia thinks and _knows_ with absolute certainty that this stupid man is horribly, sickeningly in love with the dead girl.

He was- is her soul mate.

So why and how is it that dead Rukia was determined to show her images of him bleeding out and dying in front of her?

Why the guilt? The shame?

What did _she_ do?

.

"I'll take it!"

.

Her outburst surprised the occupants in the private clinic. Her parents were understandably worried but her mind was made.

Teenage angst was a powerful motivator. She was angry, jealous and spiteful. Nose-cutting to spite her own face was exactly the sort of thing she found reasonable. If dead Rukia wanted her to be so badly deterred from meeting him in this life, from knowing the man, then _fine!_

Have it her way!

It would a blessing to finally stop seeing his bloodied face at night. She had only just managed to make out his dying words and she didn't think she could take it any more if she were to delve in further- to understand what made that beautiful, _stupid_ man resolve to say such _stupid_ things to her even as he laid there dying.

Fourteen-year old Rukia could do without the stress.

.

.

.

The treatment worked.

It was the best birthday present she had ever received. For a while, she threw herself into being normal, going out with her friends, sleeping in on weekends, mid-term exams, study dates and sleepovers, falling in love and then getting her heart broken.

For a while, she almost forgot about the existence of soul mates.

Then high school started and her classmates as high school girls are wont to do, started asking questions.

_"Rukia, where's your soul mark?"_

Her heart skipped a beat, quick to change the subject or mumble a half-lie about her mark being somewhere private.

They didn't push.

Soul mates and soul marks exist of course. All the facts and evidences they have from the scientists and the numbers point towards its existence but not everyone has one. The colloquial term for them is new souls: souls too young to have the imprints of another on them. There isn't anything good or bad about the condition per se. The fact remains that approximately 20% of world population is affected. There are 1.6 billion people out there without a soul mark of any sort.

They thought that she's one of them.

Pitiful looks thrown over their shoulders whenever they think she wasn't looking.

She didn't bother correcting them. Mainly because it seemed like a travesty of sorts to even talk about the bond between her and her soul mate. She is unworthy. She's the one who turned her back on him and the mark on her pale shoulder burned hot at the thought.

Wherever he was, she wished him well; maybe this life will be better for him now that he was free from the misfortune of having to know her.

.

.

.

Her mark unfurled in solid black lines and inky blue veins sometime during her finals when she was too stressed to even notice it in the bathroom mirror.

And on a fine, perfectly miserable mundane Tuesday morning of June the sixteenth, her dreams came back.

Time meant nothing.

Six years passed- enough for her to grow her hair out, to trade-in frilly sundresses for sleek clean lines that border on utilitarian, to call herself a woman instead of a girl; and it was as though nothing had changed.

All those half-forgotten memories came surging back to her- stronger now than ever like some divine retribution, a slap in the face for her; mocking her for even attempting to forget about them in the first place. She remembered everything in her dreams with crystal clear clarity- his bleeding face, the tender ache in her heart as their hands teased along each other, tentative brushes of their fingers in the hot, muggy afternoons up on the school rooftop.

Then the sceneries changed as it became clear that they were facing off something much bigger, more important than school and homework. The fate of the world rested on his shoulders and she steadied the slick hold on her blade- made slippery from blood, from sweat- as she parried against monsters.

The two of them side by side- fearless, so _stupidly_ fatalistic, and mute in their love for each other.

That idiot, her eyes teared- he was saying _Thank you_.

Why would he say such a stupid thing? 

.

.

.

_Present time_

.

"Do you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

Renji looks up; mouth still half full and chewing as he answers.

The air smells strongly of something fresh and citrusy. In the confines of the tiny coffee shop, warm air steeped in caffeine and sugary goodness, it feels like someone next to her had peeled open a tangerine and practically shoved a slice of it right into her nostrils to get a reaction out of her.

Rukia bites down on her lower lip, sweeps a hand through her tangle of black hair.

Not again.

"Forget it. What did you get for question 15?"

Renji makes a sound that's a cross between a grunt and a snort but doesn't push the issue further.

Ah, he knows her a little too well. They come from the same quiet town half-sequestered in mountains and evergreen trees; where hot chocolate is a household staple and white Christmas comes guaranteed. The long tedious drive back home each year for Christmas is made only marginally better with him as a companion on the road.

He is her oldest friend and in another life, her husband.

The life-like whiskers of the wolf-dog creature on his biceps twitches as he flexes his muscles, stretching. She watches, half wonders in this life would they have ended up together too if it weren't because of the memories of a dead girl in between.

Would they have been happy? Her soul less conflicted?

"You know- you've having these episodes quite frequently. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're turning into Orihime 2.0."

She stiffens, and then almost immediately after, pinches him _hard_.

"Take that back!"

Orihime is notorious for her less-than-orthodox food combinations, altered taste buds that she claims are symptoms of REM. Rukia may not know enough about REM and the extent of their effects- her own tend to lean towards the dark nightmarish type- to dispute the redhead's claims but she is not _that_ bad.

Honest.

.

Renji shrugs. His shark-toothed grin and wriggling eyebrows has her rolling her eyes in response.

"Speaking of which, where is that girl?"

They were supposed to meet in the coffee shop an hour ago. So far she and Renji have managed to divvy up the workload and finished four questions between the two of them. Rukia is just the slightest bit more concerned than usual when it comes to the woman; complicated in part by unexplainable feelings of guilt whenever she stares a little too long at her.

Rukia frowns, "I'll call her."

As if on cue, the bell rings as the door swings open violently and Orihime- smiling, vibrant Orihime, human sunshine personified- comes barrelling towards their table with her trademark cheeriness; chest heaving and ignoring the open stares from other patrons as she drags a chair over.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the words leave her mouth in a hurry. She shrugs off her coat, dropping her books and stationeries haphazardly across the shared table. Renji makes a face at that but Rukia kicks him under the table.

"There was an old man crossing the road this morning. You should have seen his bags! I mean there had to be like ten full bags of fruits with him so I went to help him, but being the klutz that I am I ended up dropping some. Oranges came flying out from the split bag! And he was so angry- the old man that is, not his oranges; as if oranges have angry faces! - And his face became his horrible shade of red. And then a car drove by and crushed the oranges and…"

Rukia nods at her animated expression, humouring her, humming appropriately as Orihime mimes the old man's puffed up face, while Renji grumbles something about violent midgets under his breath.

She shuts him up with a glare, losing track of Orihime's ramblings, until quite suddenly-

"And here he is!"

She's dragging someone by the hand over to their table.

Rukia is so thankful that she's seated. The coffee scalds her tongue and she almost drops her cup.

.

Their eyes meet and time stops.

.

Amber eyes- eyes that she had seen so many times in her dreams that she must have memorized their exact shade by now, stare back. The yearning renders her speechless and catches her off-guard. She thought she had forsaken their bond long ago, represses it so deeply within her psyche because he is heartache and loss and the never-ending rain.

Yet one look at him and the good memories outshine her nightmares; she is slack-jawed- stunned. The words forming at the tip of her tongue are a jumbled mess of _Thank you, Sorry, Where have you been? I missed y-_ and then her gut coils.

There is a niggling feeling that something isn't quite right.

.

"He's the nice man who helped me. His name is Ichigo."

The look in his eyes is sharp as he sweeps his dispassionate gaze across them, polite indifference in the handshake he exchanges with Renji. Boredom- like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.

Of course, she realizes with a bitter, painful start. Typical isn't it?

He doesn't remember her.

"I have an announcement to make. I think I found _him_ ," Orihime beams- so wide and cheerful but all Rukia wants to do is reach over and slap her- wants to yell at her to stop talking and just shut up for once.

The room spins. The winter chill has nothing on the ice that grips at her heart.

.

"I think Ichigo's my soul mate."

.

She feels sick.

.

.

.

_The fantasy of being born with a soul mate is the fantasy of sole possession, of being someone's one and only; reality is realizing that they didn't choose to be yours._

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: **fantasy vs reality**
> 
> Yes a soul mate AU. This fic is hugely inspired by _The Soulmate Continuum_ by _AbsurditiesAbound_. It's seriously good and if you want your heart torn into a million smithereens and cry tears of gratitude while doing it, then go read it. I dare you to.
> 
> There are more chapters to this fic, coming out some time later during this month under different prompts.
> 
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6alYSaesuz5b5r8Zx7NuXn?si=l6N2yv1bSM2Ex4klHGqDUw)  
>  _Repeat after me: I cannot do angst._


	2. star in your eyes

_Part II_

.

Word on campus is that he is a cad- a notorious playboy that leaves a trail of broken hearts behind him as he fixates on his new conquest. Orihime is just his latest flavour of the month.

Rukia doesn't know what to believe in.

"I can only see this ending badly for her. He's not even her soul mate!"

As a part-time model, full time diva, third year law student and aspiring Elle Woods, Rangiku makes for an interesting housemate. Her room is a perpetual mess of colours, fabrics spilling from overstuffed wardrobes; but their common area remains spotlessly clean and she puts extra effort into plumping the couch pillows when it's her turn on cleanliness duty. She says things so matter-of-factly- like the way she knows that the sun rises in the east, that her soul mate exists and she'll find him and marry him someday, that Wednesday night at Urahara's is ladies night and cocktails are two for one and beer is cheaper than water.

"How do you know that?"

"Well for starters, Hime's mark doesn't even _glow_ when she's touching him."

Violet eyes narrow.

"You know where her soul mark is?"

Rangiku's tub of Ben and Jerry's is half empty. She finishes the spoonful with a guilty look in her eyes. For a good reason- the placement of soul marks unless clearly visible can be a touchy subject for people. It's like asking someone how many sex partners they've had on a first date.

Word of caution: do **not** ask that question on a first date unless you want icy beverages thrown at you. There are much better ways to cool off.

"Just promise me you'll keep it between the two of us. Her mark is on the inside of her ankle. Golden lines for a whimsical raincloud and raindrops drawn like upside down ice-cream cones- very Hime and very subtle. It's barely there under the light. You won't notice it unless you know what you're looking for."

"And you know this because?"

Rangiku winks, lifting her top up slightly to reveal the playful kitten on her side, fluffy feather-like tail like trails of smoke rising, her paws poised and reaching for a butterfly.

"She saw mine by accident in the girl's changing room and felt bad. Offered to show me hers to make it even."

Ah, it sounds like something Orihime would do.

"Speaking of which, where's yours Rukia?"

"Mine what?"

Rangiku rolls her eyes, spoon in her mouth. "Don't play dumb! Your soul mark, dummy? We've known each other for like 4 years now. C'mon! I thought we're friends!"

Sighing, Rukia pulls down her arm sleeve- revealing the mark on her left shoulder.

Rangiku's face is thoughtful. Rukia knows that face- it's the face that they all make when they see it. In the next few seconds, someone will either start gushing about how well-done and artistic the mark is, or, more likely if the person was a woman- nine times out of ten, its romantic implications.

"Huh? A moon? Is it true what they say about them? That you have a stronger connection w-"

Scratch that; make it ten out of ten.

Rukia cuts her off mid-sentence; tugging the shirt back in place while avoiding questioning eyes.

"That's just urban legend, Ran. It's not true."

The scripted lies roll easily off her tongue. She's not being intentionally defensive or rude- she's just tired; tired of people making assumptions about her and her soul mate. It hurts now more than ever.

"Has it ever glow-"

"No."

"If you say so," Rangiku shrugs, digging out the last scoop of ice-cream and scrapping at the bottom loudly before throwing the empty tub away. The look in her eyes tells Rukia that she's not convinced. Once Nanao- overachiever extraordinaire and the third member of their household- comes back from the exchange programme, she's pulling out the big guns.

Rukia reminds herself to replace the ice-cream soon to make up for her brusqueness tonight.

.

.

Mercifully she isn't given much time to dwell on her personal angst.

The report for their group project is due by Monday, accounts for nearly 30% of their grade this semester, and of course, none of her team mates can be bothered enough to help out. Everyone else has a social life and somewhere that they _absolutely_ have to be on a Friday night.

Her mood is foul and fouler as she rips into Renji. The slacker hasn't even sent her the first part of the discussion. She can feel herself getting cross-eyed from his messy scrawl as she struggles to make sense of it all. Now, was it _entropy_ or _enthalpy_ that he wrote here?

She growls at him over the phone.

"I can't read your handwriting!"

"Then borrow someone else's notes!"

She can feel a headache coming. Her gut reaction is to scream but she's at the library and the librarian has been sending dirty looks at her direction ever since she started talking.

"That's not the point," she hisses instead, "You were supposed to be taking notes for the discussion. You told me you got it down pat!"

His reply is indignant and lost to the crowd's cheers as the commentator announces that the Maroons score another three-pointer and are now leading 81 to 51. The whoops and cheers coming from his team mates are insufferable and Rukia has half the mind to go down to the games herself and drag him by the ear back to the library.

"Listen Rukia, I'll have to call you back. I'm up."

"No! _You_ listen to me! Renji, you stay on the line! Ren-"

That bastard hung up!

Her phone pings- a reply from Orihime. Of course! Orihime is good and responsible and would _never_ leave her hanging like this.

Rukia slides it open to read- _Sorry! Ttyl. Dinner at Ichigo's now._

She slams her phone down hard; hard enough to make the librarian glare. She doesn't feel bitter, not even the slightest bit. In fact, she's overjoyed by how good things are going between Orihime and her new boyfriend/fake soul mate!

She swears under her breath. The calculations need to be redone. Thankfully she still has the raw data from their experiment from the weeks before. Writing up the report isn't the hardest thing to do in the world when there were three of them doing it; alone, well- there's her weekend gone.

.

.

An hour flies by, and becomes two and becomes four; and before she knows it it's twelve and the library's closing for the night.

Rukia's one of the last to leave. Madame Librarian is shooting her glares behind her back but she is just too tired to care.

The staircase leading to the exit is long and winding, and she's on the third floor. She yawns, rubbing at her eyes.

The amount of work leftover from today is heavy enough that she knows she'll find a way to make Renji pay. Maybe she'll send Orihime a strongly-worded text later. She's irritated enough to hope that it interrupts something important between her and her precious Ichigo. It should read something like this: There is no 'I' in teamwork, yet here 'I' am alone in the library on a Friday ni-

She misses a step.

"Watch out!"

Her eyes widen as she starts falling, headfirst with her arms comically flailing out- too shocked to even scream and the contents of her bag- her books, her colourful pens, her laptop!- exploded onto the stairway.

She shuts her eyes tight and braces herself for the impact.

And then-

.

She blinks. The hold on her is strong and familiar. Someone had broken her fall- catching her by her forearms and keeping her steady- both feet planted firmly on a step, her arms in a defensive position in front of her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," her breath is shaky as she lowers her arms, her heart thundering, "Tha-"

The mark on her shoulder tingles. It's not a full-on glow- owing to the heavy layers on her but the sensation is unmistakable. So then that means-

.

_Ichigo!_

.

What is he doing here?

He looks tired. Bright hair flattened underneath the hood of his sweatshirt as he gives her a quick once-over to make sure she's okay. Ah, she inhales sharply; that explains why she hadn't seen him in front of her.

She stills as his scent grounds her. Pine fire and cinnamon, tinged by a strong note of dark roast washes over her like silk sliding across naked skin. It feels- it feels like finally coming home to a warm hearth after a cold day in the woods.

Everything about him is so achingly familiar, so annoyingly dependable and that's what makes everything hurt.

Because he is not hers and she feels too much and the weight of remembering sinks her down like an anchor to the sea. There's the boy in the rain, dying because of her; the boy who bought her ice-creams and took her in when the world turned its back on her.

What happened to _them_?

Why is it that whenever Rukia sees him, all she wants to do is cry?

.

She is completely unprepared for this encounter. A lone tear streaks down her cheek, and she swipes it away, quickly averts her eyes and inches away, keeping her hands away from him at all cost.

It is okay, she tells herself. His mark won't glow as long as she doesn't touch him. Even if bare skin-to-skin contact is the only way to know for sure and they've both got enough layers on that it seems downright impossible she's still not taking any chances.

Let him think that she's some random clumsy weirdo who cries at the sight of good-looking strangers in the middle of the night. As long as he doesn't know the truth about her, about _them_ and their soul marks, then he can be happy-

.

_Orihime makes him happy right?_

.

The first thing she does is check that her laptop is ok. As soon as the screen lights up with no visible cracks or blocks of static, she's is throwing everything she can fit into her bag without looking up and gone before he can utter another word in her presence.

.

.

Dead Rukia hoards all her good memories like a dragon with a treasure trove and the glimpses of memories that she sees are fragmented at best. Every now and then though something slips past and Rukia catches glimpses of what could have been.

.

.

.

.

In the dead of the night there are pockets of stolen thrills, earthly pleasures to be known in a lover's touch. Rapture- the earth-shattering sort that shakes the very foundation of her beliefs, her purpose in life; grips at her and all she wants- all she needs is him.

The moon and the stars bear witness to all- their voracity, the need for more, lust- deadly human sins that show in the frantic grappling for flesh and kisses as they hold on to each other. Sweet summer sweat and the heady scent of arousal permeate. Their time on this plane is fleeting but she will waste her life away if this is what it means to have him- to be with him.

 _Sink into me_ , their bodies breathe as one- _melt into me and make me a part of you_.

Clothes- she has too many layers on, but there's languidness- the syrupy lazy touches of a man in love in the way he undresses her, pressing kisses onto the closest patch of skin he can reach every time another piece of clothing comes off. Ichigo's kisses are honeyed, toe-curling and hers but she's grown spoilt by now.

She needs more.

She keens, throws her arms around his neck and willingly gives herself up to him. Keeps grinding herself against him, pulls at his hair and nips at him until he growls and the tender hold he keeps on her turns tight and bruising.

 _Slow down_ , he tells her, _I'm not going anywhere_.

But she doesn't want him to be slow and tender with her tonight. She needs to feel him- alive and naked under her fingertips, wants to rake her fingernails down his back until he bleeds to know that he is human and kiss him until he's covered in bruises the shape of her lips. She needs to let him know- she needs to know that he is hers; that he still wants her and everything between them is as golden and lovely as the way it was when she first left him.

Somehow her urgency reaches him and he abandons all thoughts of playing nice. He is always so accommodating to her needs, she thinks. There is something wicked and more than human in his presence but she welcomes it.

 _Show me how you want to be touched_ , he whispers.

She doesn't need to be told twice. Raises her eyes to him in a come-hither look and crooks her fingers to spread herself open under his molten gaze. She's wetting her fingers- pleasuring herself while she keeps her eyes on him and the pink, throbbing cock in his hands. The knowledge that she has his undivided attention- that he is captive to her and her movements to the point of near desperation makes her feral and vocal.

One finger becomes two and her body thrums. She moans his name- ragged, breathy; over and over again until it becomes hoarse broken syllables. In a blissful moment of change, he's snatching her fingers away and sinking into her.

Deeply.

Slowly.

Until all that she knows is him and she's drowning in pools of amber. In his eyes, she sees herself reflected.

She sees stars.

.

.

.

.

Caught in the dreamy moments between wakefulness and slumber, Rukia turns over to her side, expecting to find him there- hopefully covered in her marks and wearing her colours proudly. Reality sets in when her hands turn up empty and it leaves her cold.

The memory lingers as she stands under the hot shower, daydreaming. Her breath hitches. His touches felt so real that she almost expects to find bruises on herself and the intensity of emotions- the depth of a dead girl's love and its reaches across time and space- refuses to yield to reason.

She misses him.

Even though she has only met him twice, scorns the very idea of love at first sight, her heart and her soul know better. They can never be strangers to each other. She burns for him, yearns for his touch so much that she thinks- she knows that she loved him even before she met him in this life.

The realization scares her.

.

She flinches from the sharp raps on the door.

"Y-Yes?"

" _Rukia_ ," it's only Rangiku- the whine in her voice exaggerated, "Don't stay too long in there! You're going to use up all the hot water again. Save some for me!"

Then, the front door shuts and the lock clicks as she leaves on her morning run.

Rukia has the whole house to herself, merciful silence and bliss as she drowns in her thoughts. Ultimately she gives in to reason. Because Rangiku is right- she's wasting water, burning daylight and that report isn't going to write itself. With much reluctance, she steps out of the shower.

Towelling herself dry, she touches herself in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, fingers pressing down on the spots he marked.

Smooth unblemished skin stares back.

There is something that the dead girl hides and a secret that she keeps and carries beyond her grave. Overshadowing her devotion and the barely-concealed longing for her soul mate is guilt- the same shade that is the manifestation of Rukia's childhood nightmares, the visions of a boy dying because of her, the fragmented, disjointed sequence of events in her past life.

Rukia is sick of letting the dead girl win. She wants to remember.

She wants to know how they met, their story from the very beginning and towards the end, what happened to the lovers who were once so disgustingly in love with each other.

What changed?

What happened in between those wild, reckless moments with Ichigo- the taste of freedom and young love like undiluted ichor running through their veins; to being married to Renji?

Why can't she remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Group projects, amirite?
> 
> For full immersive experience, please click on [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6alYSaesuz5b5r8Zx7NuXn?si=l6N2yv1bSM2Ex4klHGqDUw)  
> 


	3. crossing blades, crossing hearts

_Part III_

.

Rukia knows when she's being watched.

Her body stiffens and her fingers on the keyboard still.

.

_"Is this seat taken?"_

.

She almost gives herself whiplash when she snaps her head up from her laptop screen. Sunlight- rare as it is during December is streaming behind him. He is golden and beautiful enough that her heart aches and the sound of his voice brings out the worst of her weak pathetic yearning.

"Sit anywhere you like."

She says instead and almost immediately regrets it as he takes up the offer; plops down in the seat opposite her and starts working on his laptop. He makes steady progress, fingers tapping incessantly while he flips through his notes. The hand-drawn medical diagrams that catch her eyes are detailed and colourful as he jots down notes neatly beside them.

Rukia is distracted, for the lack of a better word- by how big and capable his hands look, wonders if the span of both palms can cover her waist and how warm his skin would feel against hers. His lips look so inviting and soft and her mouth goes dry at the memories of moonlit lovers, heated kisses over naked bodies.

.

"Is there something wrong?"

She almost squeaks. Ichigo is looking at her across the table, roguish grin curving at his lips and Rukia would rather _die_ than admit to the staring.

"N-Nothing."

" _Oh_ ," he leans in, elbow propped, chin resting on the hollow of his palm as he teases, "Then why are you staring at me like that?"

"Like what?"

He shrugs, "like you're trying to decide if you'd prefer me without my clothes."

Rukia blushes, almost knocking over her hot thermos as she hides her face.

"You're delusional."

She stares resolutely at her screen, refusing to even look up and glare when he chuckles throatily at her expense. From the corner of her eyes, Rukia can see the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips and she groans inwardly. She is still on the same sentence that she was half an hour ago. Her focus and attention is shot to hell all because of him.

She chances a glance around her surroundings. There are more than enough empty tables around even on the first floor.

"Go sit somewhere else," she hisses at him, "you're blocking the light."

"Why should I? You just told me to sit anywhere I like and I like it here. So if it's all the same to you, I think I'll stay."

The smirk that he flashes at her is … _annoying_ and she wilfully squashes the army of butterflies stirring at the pit of stomach. He knows exactly what he's doing to her, knows exactly how to get under her skin and she hates how her stupid body is playing right into his hands.

She scowls. Maybe he really is a playboy.

"Why are you even here?"

This is the university library. There's nothing here but old dusty books, stressed out university students high on caffeine and adrenaline rush from last-minute submissions, and free Wi-Fi. Why is he here torturing her with his presence when he should be basking away in the love and attention of his girlfriend?

"Am I not allowed to be here?"

"No, I mean- Yes- I-" she falters, stumbling over her words like the tongue-tied fool that she is- "I mean, _where is Hime?_ Shouldn't you be spending time with her instead?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Why are you talking about her like she's my girlfriend or something?"

She slow blinks, staring at the man like he's stupid.

"Um, maybe because she is?"

"Says who?"

She snorts out loud, rolling her eyes for good measure. "Seriously? What reality do you live in? Everyone on campus knows that you two are together."

"She's not my girlfriend," he growls. The lazy smirk disappears in entirety. The look on his face turns serious when his jaw clenches.

Rukia is partially convinced by it. Mainly due to wishful thinking on her part, it's more than likely he's just being shy. Who wouldn't want a goddess like Orihime by their side? She shrugs, covers up the excess of her emotions by feigning nonchalance.

" _Sure_. Whatever helps you sleep at night. The whole campus saw you two together. Good luck convincing people otherwise."

The alarm on her phone buzzes. It's almost five. She curses as she starts packing her things. Where did all that time go?

"I have to go."

She promised Rangiku that she'll cook dinner tonight. It's a good thing that the blonde isn't too fussy about food. The last time she checked the only thing they've got left in the fridge is eggs and carrot sticks.

Ichigo pushes his chair back noisily.

"Wait! I-"

_"Ichi-boo!"_

Rukia winces. There's only one person in the world she knows who would use such a cringy cutesy pet name for the man. The scowl on Ichigo's face deepens.

Both sets of eyes flit over to Orihime who stops dead in her tracks when she sees them standing next to each other.

The light in her eyes dies and Rukia feels horrible. The guilt is there, sitting heavy like lead on her heart again.

"This isn't what it looks like, Hime," Rukia tries to salvage the situation but cringes when she realizes how bad and misleading she makes it seem with a statement like that. Ichigo's presence isn't helping the situation either.

"Orihime," his voice is tight- the calm before the storm, "we need to talk."

"What about? Can we do it in private?"

The steel that so rarely makes an appearance in Orihime peaks in the pointed look she shoots Rukia. Rukia bites her lips, feeling like some hapless idiot trapped in some cliché love drama as she tells the couple, "I'm leaving."

She steadfastly ignores the look Ichigo is giving her as she packs. Let those two sort out their own drama. She has enough on her plate as it is.

"No, you stay."

Ichigo vetoes her decision in a heartbeat before she can even protest. Then, he turns to Orihime, coolly and calmly, and says "I think it's better that there's a third party present. Orihime, why are you telling people that we're soul mates?"

Nervous fingers play at the ends of her waist-length braid. Girlish charms abound in the smile she gives as she reaches for him, "Why can't I?"

He sidesteps. The scowl on his face is firm and unrelenting despite the crestfallen look on her face.

Rukia frowns at the scene. They are far from the picture that Orihime paints about a lovey-dovey couple practically joined at the hip. Come to think of it, why was he in the library that night when Orihime texted her to say she was at his place?

.

_Jesus Christ, don't tell me –_

.

His hand suddenly shoots out to grab at Orihime's wrist, just as the other unzips his jacket. He pulls down the front of his shirt to reveal the mark on his left pectoral, sitting just below the collarbone and extending past his sternum. It's a nautical compass- black, grey and heavily shaded in, at its centre, the sun- a ring of burnished gold with vines of sunbeam creeping outwards.

There is direct skin to skin contact between them but there is no spark. His mark doesn't glow when he touches her. And though Rukia knows it for a fact, seeing it with her own eyes brings forth something sweeter- hope.

"Because that's a lie. You're not my soul mate."

.

.

The atmosphere in the library shifts. Curiosity and boredom makes for a lethal combination as faculty members and students in the vicinity creep forward, wary to intrude but certainly interested enough to listen in.

Busybodies, every single one of them; but Rukia understands the appeal. Ichigo is devastating in the way his hair falls over his eyes, the way the leather jacket drapes over his shoulders and the way his jeans hugs his figure. As for Orihime- literal goddess on Earth; voluptuous with legs for days and a fan club that numbers in the thousands, being popular is an understatement.

The two make a handsome couple just by standing there together.

Throw in the potential for a loud, messy breakup and it's hot gossip just waiting to go off. Judging by the amount of furious typing and conspicuous-looking phone angles, Rukia is willing to bet her 4.0 GPA that some of the onlookers are live-tweeting and video-recording the whole thing.

The public is hungry for entertainment and dying to know more. By tomorrow, everyone will know about the nasty public breakup, the end of _Ichihime_ \- Brangelina-in-the-making, and like it short-lived.

.

Orihime's hands wrestle free, clasping at her chest.

"Is that what you're worried about? I don't care if you're not my soul mate! Lots of people end up with people who aren't their soul mates. I mean, think about it logically. There are so many people out there. If you work out the maths, it's impossible for everyone to find their soul mate."

That's true. National statistics say that only 83% of the couples in marriages and registered civil partnerships, opposite sex or otherwise, are found to be soul mates- the bearer of a soul mark that glowsupon skin contact with that of their partner's. International figures lower it to a further 75%.

Rukia's own parents are in the minority but that doesn't mean that she doubts their love for each other.

"And yet my parents found each other. A visiting professor from Germany and a surgical resident from Japan somehow found each other despite the distance between them and fell in love. As did their parents and those before them."

"Well I don't care about that! _I love you_ , isn't that enough?"

Orihime's lips quiver; her meltdown earning her more than a fair share of sympathy from the crowd.

Rukia's eyes meet Ichigo's. Her feelings are a mixture of hope and trepidation, hinging upon his answer. Here's a girl gorgeous beyond words, unconventional enough to ignore the soul mate lore- the very pinnacle of romanticism- because she's desperately in love; isn't it enough?

"You deserve better. I can't love you like that. I'm sorry."

Her heart soars- callous as it is, even as Orihime's tears fall and drip.

"But we were so good together. What changed?"

Ichigo's sigh is weary and more than a little frustrated.

"Nothing changed. I told you this from the start. I don't like you that way. I only went to the café with you because you insisted on buying me a coffee to thank me."

"B-But you let me into your house and introduced me to your sisters! Why would you toy with my feelings like this?"

" _ **Don't**_ ," he tells her behind clenched teeth. It's forceful enough that Orihime takes a step back.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, "Please stop. You're doing it again. You're setting up yourself to be the victim and that's not true. Nothing ever happened between us. I would never lead you on like that. You told me that you're interested in volunteering for the community. That's why I introduced you to Yuzu who manages the local soup kitchen. I didn't think that you'll start dropping by unannounced at my house every day and staying past midnight! Why do you think I'm always at the library?"

People, Rukia included, are stunned into silence. The sudden twist takes everyone by surprise.

Never! Not sweet Orihime, they thought; why would she do such a thing?

"B-But you said-"

"Orihime," Ichigo cuts in- too annoyed to keep up pretences of civility, "I don't like you like that. I really don't know how else I'm supposed to tell you this but _please_ stop! There's someone out there for you who will worship the very ground you walk on, just not me. So please for both of our sakes, **stop** wasting your time on me."

"Ichi-boo," she chokes, "you're breaking my heart!"

"I'm not changing my mind, Orihime. You'll thank me in the future."

The snark in his reply sends Orihime into throes of lovelorn anguish. Under the gazes of gossipy bystanders and their hushed whispers, she dashes out, bolting down the stairs with Rukia chasing after her.

.

.

"Hime, wait!"

The aftermath of the confrontation- its implications are still being processed. Rukia's heart is first a roaring song of triumph- hopeful and light; but away from Ichigo's presence, she's dipping into low waters with heavy guilt.

The one-sided pining from Orihime is reminiscent of her own. The humiliation of open rejection, the amount of scrutiny that borders on social suicide; Rukia feels- she feels acutely, deeply and the lingering thought at the back of her mind screams that all of this has happened before. That she is responsible, that she ruined everything–

Her existence is the blight on happiness itself.

Rukia's hand reaches out but Orihime slaps it away. The redhead's face is pink and blotchy from crying. She looks angry enough to spit fire and Rukia is taken aback by the fierce snarl.

"Congratulations! You won! Happy now?"

"What?"

Rukia's eyebrows furrow, "What are you talking about?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Orihime sniffs miserably, shaking in the cold as she stands coatless and gloveless. "You got together with Ichigo behind my back! You turned him against me!"

The accusation hurts. Rukia thought they were friends. And even if they weren't, she would never do something like that.

"I didn't! I would never! You have to believe me. I have nothing to do with this!"

"Was it fun watching me flail and flounder like an idiot there? Every time I said something about Ichigo being my soul mate were you secretly laughing at me? You made me look like such a fool! You should have said something if you knew all along."

Rukia shakes her head. "You've got it all wrong!"

Ichigo barely knows about her, let alone about her existence as his soul mate. No one does. Rukia is the only one who knows because it's her secret to keep. She wants to tell Orihime all of that but the words wouldn't come.

Emotions sweep over her like a tidal wave, overwhelming and powerful. She feels wronged and hurt and frustrated. Stupidly, all she can do is cry.

Her vision turns blurry and the tears won't stop coming.

Orihime looks disgusted by her, takes her tears as a sign indicative of her guilt. With a toss of her disheveled braid over her shoulder, she is walking away, leaving Rukia behind.

"Save your fake tears for someone who cares."

.

.

By the time she gets home, it's late. Her head is pounding and her eyes bloodshot from crying. Rangiku looks up sympathetically from the sofa and Rukia takes the proffered Chinese takeaway menu from her hands woodenly.

"I heard about the fallout between you and Hime."

Rukia nods, too drained to even speak.

Rangiku hugs her tight and Rukia can feel another batch of tears incoming. She is so frustrated at everything but mostly at herself.

Why can't she make things right?

"This is all my fault."

"Don't you listen to Hime. She had no right to-"

"No, Ran. You don't understand."

There's so much going on that Rangiku doesn't understand. Nobody understands. The guilt hangs like a noose around her neck, a guillotine ready to drop at the slightest hint of elation. Rukia is tired- tired of hiding, tired of making up excuses, of running away, of feeling hopeful one minute, then wondering if she's only setting herself up for greater disappointments, in the next.

"Hime is right. I knew. I knew that Ichigo-" Rukia bites at her lower lip and lets loose- "Ichigo isn't Hime's soul mate."

She flashes through the memories of her past life. The toe-curling, sugar-rush-inducing euphoria that a dead girl gatekeeps and only lets her have glimpses of when caught off guard; the images of Ichigo lying in his own puddle of blood, his blood stains her hands and the regret stains her soul. Then later, a muted version of the same girl languishing in mundane agony by Renji's side- respected as a leader, a wife, a mother but her heart, her heart never stops yearning for another.

Rukia knows beyond a doubt–

"He is mine. I saw him in my dreams."

.

To her credit, the blonde seems to take the revelation in stride. The only sign of surprise being the slight widening of her eyes before she turns stock-still.

"Are you sure? Like is there a chance that you're wrong somehow?"

Rukia's smile is watery and mirthless. Shaking her head as she chokes, "Oh, Ran! I wish I was."

Ichigo is hers and she, his. She has seen him in her dreams and through the lenses of her own and a dead girl, who has loved and lost, knows him. Her heart yearns for him still and she is torn between disavowing her foolish heart and throwing herself into his arms, calling him hers and kissing him until they're both boneless and gone; so afraid and desperate for him to know.

A pregnant pause comes as Rangiku takes the time to suck in a deep breath and gather her resolve.

"Right. You. Shower. Now!"

Rangiku herds her towards the bathroom, "I'll order Peking duck, some fried rice and your favourite Szechuan chicken and then, we'll video call Nanao. You're going to let me do your hair and we're going to have nice long chat about this soul mate business."

"You're not mad?" Rukia asks at the threshold of the door. She lied to her, kept such a big secret from her even though they're friends.

Rangiku scoffs. "No but I am going to be if you lock yourself in there the whole night. Enjoy your shower-" she tosses Rukia an oversized hoodie and sweatpants- "but be out in twenty. You're going to tell us everything. And I mean _everything_. And then…"

She trails off, turning to Rukia with a mischievous gleam in her blue eyes. Rukia gulps.

"And then what?"

"And then we're going to watch Elle Woods kick ass and take names."

Rukia groans, ducking behind the door as she locks it.

"Ran, we watched that movie so many times already! _At least_ let me pick something else."

"But Rukia, how else are we going to make sure you nail the 'bend and snap' routine in front of your Ichigo," she teases.

_"Ran!"_

The evil woman simply laughs.

.

.

"I don't get it."

Rangiku is the first to break the silence when Rukia finishes recounting her story- about her struggles against a dead girl from another life and their hopeless infatuation with the same man.

The prawn crackers snap under pressure.

"He's your soul mate. He's meant to love you. Run to him and tell him the truth. If he's anything like you he's probably _dying_ inside for you to call him yours."

Rukia sighs, hands cradling her cup of oolong tea.

"He's a human being, Ran. Not some dog or pet dying to shower me with promises of unconditional love. It doesn't work like that."

"How would you know?"

"For starters, you don't randomly start dreaming about your soul mate dying in his own pool of blood just for kicks. There has to be a reason why dead me keeps trying to turn me away from him, the reason behind the guilt and my nightmares. Something happened between us. I know- I just know that I have to remember it somehow. It's the only way I can face him again."

Rangiku frowns.

"I still think you're overthinking it-" she turns to the bespectacled woman on her phone- "Nanao, tell Rukia she's being an idiot! She should just go up to that hunk of hers and confess so they can bang the living daylights out of each other."

She winks saucily at Rukia who rolls her eyes in response.

"I heard the sex- the sexual compatibility between soul mates is out of this world. Be a dear and do kiss and tell. You'll be doing God's work."

Nanao snorts, barely looking up from her monstrous pile of reference material. Academic flair and ironclad work ethics got her into an exclusive semester-long exchange programme in Europe. Prestige and much-to-be-envied opportunity aside, the workload involved is nothing to scoff at.

"No comment."

" _Nanao!_ " Rangiku pouts at her dry reply, "Where is your maiden heart full of stars and longing? Don't you find the story romantic? Doesn't it make you want to run to your own soul mate and profess your undying devotion?"

"Not unless I'm running into the arms of the literal god of sleep," Nanao snips, massaging her eyelids gently as she yawns; stretching in the shower of golden light from the open window.

"Girls, it's late. Go to bed. We'll continue this some other time."

"Ok, _Mom!_ We miss you," Rangiku makes a stupid kissy face and Rukia waves goodbye from her perch on the arm of the loveseat, "Can't wait to see you in person, lecturing us about keeping appropriate bed times in your fuzzy Sesame Street PJs again!"

.

.

"Here."

Sometime later that week, Rangiku hands her a wrapped package.

"It's too early for my birthday and Christmas," she tells her housemate, "What is it?"

Rangiku rolls her eyes.

"Open it and see, dummy."

Inside, Rukia finds a hardcover. The title simply reads 'The Art of Lucid Dreaming'. She is more than a little touched by the gesture.

"This is-"

"-How we want to help," the blonde says, "It's Nanao's idea. She says to tell you that finding closure is self-care. Take your time. You owe it to yourself to find out what really happened between you and Ichigo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elle Woods is an icon. You wish you were as cool as her! Legally Blonde- an education for girls of all ages.
> 
> On the other hand, cringy pet names. *shudders* 
> 
> For full immersive experience, please click on [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6alYSaesuz5b5r8Zx7NuXn?si=l6N2yv1bSM2Ex4klHGqDUw)  
> 


	4. betrayal

_Part IV_

.

The news spreads and travels faster than the speed of light. It's a big campus but word gets around. By the end of the week, lines are drawn and sides are taken. Orihime's fanboys do what they can, giving Ichigo the proverbial stink eye and angry death threats as he passes by.

.

_You broke her heart. There will be consequences._

.

Rukia hears a story about him being jumped by some of them in some deserted alleyway. It ends with his assailants in the A&E- stitches and limbs in cast while he gets off relatively unscathed- black eye and split lip aside. She dismisses it as nothing more than a fanciful story.

Nothing but sticks and stones or so she thought until she sees the extent of his injuries for herself.

.

.

"So you're the person who's been feeding them!"

Rukia jumps at the sound of his voice. How Ichigo manages to find her even when she doesn't want to be found she doesn't know but she is resigned to the fact that the how's and why's don't matter when the instigator is fate and the person involved is your soul mate.

Rin- white and orange tabby, long-haired and more than a little queenly in her manners leaps off her lap. Rukia and the humble offering of canned tuna long forgotten as the cat meows and rubs herself against the leg of the newcomer.

_Traitor_ , Rukia thinks; brushing the dirt off her jeans.

The stray cats in the neighbourhood know her; or rather they know the smell of the expensive canned tuna that she brings with her whenever classes end a little earlier than expected on Thursdays. They trust her enough to let her pet them (sometimes) or at the very least tolerates her presence well enough to let her assign them names in her head, but that's nothing compared to the welcome that Ichigo receives.

They flock to him like his ship has just come to shore laden with fish. Even Old Tom- one-eyed, grey and mean flicks his tail, yellow eyes rapt with attention from his perch on the high walls. Hungry cats surround him from all sides and he hides his amusement under that infamous scowl.

Rukia thinks he should give up the tough guy act. It's obvious in the way his hands never stop long enough from giving pets and scratches under chins to still, that he's a softie underneath that loud hair and obnoxious attitude.

She freezes when she meets his gaze.

There is no room for self-consciousness when she sees the black eye and white gauze taped at his temple. For once, dead Rukia is in agreement- anger bubbling in tandem. Her hands are shaking.

How _dare_ they!

.

_"Who did this?"_

.

She thinks she may have screeched; whatever sound it was that she made it was enough to send some of the cats scampering. She may be tiny and her arm span limited but her heart is fierce and these hands protect what they consider as theirs.

Rukia focuses her attention on the gash on his lower lip. It looks deep enough to need stitches. He shrugs and her scowl deepens. He's a fool for not knowing how to take better care of himself.

"What happened to you?"

His eyes stray, avoiding hers. "I'm sure you've heard about it by now. Some idiots thought it'll be fun to jump me. It must have seemed like a good idea to them at the time- 5 on 1. I'm sure they know better now though."

His lips slant into a wild smirk and Rukia knows that the leather jacket and delinquent hairstyle isn't just a choice of aesthetics. Ichigo is tough and holds his own in a fight. But it doesn't stop her from wanting to reach out to touch him, to call him an idiot while she presses an ice pack against his eye and kisses his wounds better.

"Idiot!"

She swallows thickly, ignoring her instincts to run to him and instead grips at the can opener in her hands. The memories come unbidden- she's done it before. Images flash of her running her fingers through his hair, pointing out his bruises and chastising him for being careless enough to not notice that he was walking into an ambush.

He chuckles and there's something familiar in the sound of it.

Her heart aches.

"Careful there. What with the tears of gratitude when I saved you from falling down the stairs and this newfound concern you have for me, I might think that you're in love with me or something."

Ha, she laughs weakly- or something.

"Don't flatter yourself," she scoffs instead, "We can't all be like Rin over there- dumb enough to be taken in by a pretty face to forget about the hand that feeds her."

"Oh so you think I'm good-looking huh?"

Rukia crosses her arms, "What if I do? It's called a compliment. It's considered good manners to thank someone when you receive them you know? Or are you too thick to even recognize it?"

He smirks, "Nah just surprised. I don't always get them, especially from pretty girls like you."

She bites the inside of her cheek, hiding her smile even as her face burns under the evening sun. The banter is something she slides into and settles comfortably with him. The push and pull, give and take nature of their relationship- it's like nothing ever changed.

"So," he gestures to the stray tabby rolling on her back, paws swiping at the air, "this is Rin?"

"Yes, that's what I call her in my head. Rin is a sweetheart. She isn't as skittish as the others and Old Tom over there is the venerable grandfather only twice as grouchy and mean. Mimi isn't here today."

The laughter reverberating from him is a song on the radio she wants to put on repeat.

"You name them? Oh Yuzu will love that!– _Hey!_ –" he frowns, wincing as he pulls his hands away. Rin's claws dig a little too harshly against his skin, leaving red angry marks behind– " _Play nice!_ Chad, my sisters and I- we're going to help the local RSPCA with setting up shelters for these furballs. It's supposed to be a long winter ahead. Would you like to join us on Saturday?"

"I-I-"

"You don't have to give me an answer now. You probably have plans. It is short notice- literally the day after tomorrow and it's hardly the most exciting thing to do on a weekend before Christmas."

He scratches at the back of his neck. The gesture is boyish and endearing while Rukia wallows and hovers. Why is she hesitating? This isn't even a date she thinks, it's a group outing (almost) and it's for a good cause. She might even enjoy it.

"Y-Yes."

"Ok. Your phone?"

Rukia hands it over, watching in stunned stupor as he keys in his number.

"There!"

She pockets the phone back. Still numb but there in her heart, hope unfurls from the seedling that sprouted that day in the library, it grows and Rukia wants to believe.

.

" _Shit!_ " he curses at the time display on his own device, "I'm late. Yuzu wants some special kimchi paste from that oriental shop three streets over. I gotta go! I'll text you the details. And um… yeah call me. "

.

.

Much later when he's already a distant spot in her line of vision and the streetlights come on, Rin is looking at her with her knowing blue eyes, meowing loud before she slinks off into the shadows.

Rukia takes the long way home, her resolve strengthening as she passes by shops and restaurants with their busy crowds and colourful neon signs. She stops at the traffic lights; her exhale, puffs of white smoke condensing in the cold air.

She _needs_ to remember.

.

.

"It's been over a week. Are you really going to keep ignoring me?"

The redhead refuses to even look at her.

Orihime packs her things- an assortment of floral-themed gel pens bundled into the confines of her pastel pink book bag as she moves to the opposite row of seats.

Rukia sighs. There's a tentative nudge from Renji as he hands her the usual order of coffee- black, hot enough to burn her tongue on. She looks up and mumbles her thanks.

"Forget about her," he slides into the seat that Orihime vacated. Lights dim in the lecture hall and the rest of the students scramble to get into their seats before Professor Shihouin sweeps in and locks the doors after her.

The dark-skinned woman makes her way up on stage, topaz eyes sweeping across her students before she grins sharp and predatory.

"Morning all," she purrs and Rukia thinks she feels a collective shudder running through the room.

Year 3 has the highest dropout rate in her course. Rukia can't help but think it's all related to their head lecturer as she stalks up to the whiteboard and in a bold red marker writes out the words " **INTRODUCTION TO QUANTUM MECHANICS** ".

It doesn't matter that today is the last day of class before winter break starts or that Quantum Mechanics is the syllabus for the next semester because Professor Shihouin believes in staying ahead of the curve and starting early. Science says diamonds are forged under high temperatures and pressures. She _is_ PressureTM and her assignments are trials by fire.

Do it right and all of them will turn from carbon into jewels or so the woman believes.

It's Saturday tomorrow. The thought alone sustains Rukia until then.

.

.

An hour into crunching numbers and scribbling notes, she drifted off.

Nanao will be happy to know that all those hours of reading about lucid dreaming really do pay off, less happy to know that she fell asleep during class.

.

.

Dead Rukia is a little shorter than her, dressed in the same black, formless garb that she has seen Ichigo in countless times in her dreams, and by her side; a blade of pure white that radiates light. She is real- knitted of flesh and bones as they stare at each other.

Rukia is in awe, feeling like an ugly duckling next to a swan. Growth in reverse, time out of joint in the way violet eyes stare back and in them, Rukia thinks she sees only disgust.

"I am-"

"I know who _you_ are."

The expressionless mask that the dead girl puts on makes her look like a proper noblewoman- all grace and poise, but she holds herself like a warrior and the set of her shoulders is square. It is all very intimidating.

Rukia steels herself. This is important. She wants to remember and she holds onto that.

"Let me remember. Please! I need to know!"

"Forget it," the dead girl's voice is deeper than expected. There is impatience in the way she waves her off, "there are some things you're better off not knowing."

"That's not for you to decide."

Rukia takes a step forward.

A kaleidoscope of black swallowtails flutter into existence- bright colours reflected off their scales as they swarm at her. She swipes at them, scowling. Her anger is a tight-lipped thing, burning in her eyes and her clenched fists. She will not be deterred- not when she has already come this far.

"Why do you hate me? Why are you so determined to keep me away from him?"

"Because you do not deserve him."

Rukia decides that dead Rukia doesn't make sense. She can't say things like that with a straight face when she herself knew the truth, saw the things that she had seen.

"Why not? Who gave you the right to decide that? Why are you so bitter?"

The dead girl's angry glare cuts into her. It is a warning- rigid in the way her body stands, the way her hand falls to the hilt of her blade.

Rukia charges ahead anyway, throwing words like poisoned barbs. She is her own worst enemy and she has _always_ known where to hit where it hurts.

"What happened to you and Ichigo? You love him. Why weren't you together with him? How did you end up with Renji?"

Dead Rukia is still and frozen like a statue.

"You know I'm right! I am you! I feel your emotions! You don't love Renji like that. You were dead inside all that time!"

.

_Why did you choose to be unhappy?_

.

Their eyes meet, separated by a makeshift wall of swallowtails, the beat of their wings so noisy and loud in her ears. Rukia thinks she knows sadness- the ache of pining, the frustration of falling short on words that matter- but she has never seen the kind of grief swimming in the dead girl's eyes.

She's beginning to understand the guilt, the disgust.

It's all self-directed and destructive.

"You don't hate me, do you?" there is sudden clarity, "You hate yourself. You hate yourself so much that you can't bear the thought of forgiveness. It eats away at you. At us!"

The defences, the walls that the dead girl puts up crumble as Rukia approaches her. Just a broken girl- condemned by fear and the secret she keeps.

All at once, Rukia is struck by how similar and different they are to each other- her past and her present, mirroring each other in the way time bends and flows, like a river running its course through the collective consciousness of mankind across dimensions.

History repeats itself. This has all happened before.

.

"Why didn't you go to him?"

"Would you stop asking questions if I show you the truth? About what really happened?"

It's a trap, Rukia thinks- barely concealed in the way the dead girl grips her hands, ruby red lips drawn tight. But it's too late to go back now. She'll take it.

"Very well," the curve of the dead girl's smile is cruel as she throws a handful of shimmering powder into her eyes. Rukia isn't quick enough to dodge and it burns her eyes. Just before her vision turns black she thinks she hears the dead girl whispering.

"Don't forget. You asked for this."

.

.

.

.

The death of summer marks the end of them, heralded by the sound of angry arguments, the way words cut and wound. There is a war between hearts, conflicting desires about doing what is right and doing what is expected.

Rukia scoffs. He is a child still in the way he sees the world. The powers-that-be are absolute and terrible in the way they demand their loyalty and exact their pound of flesh. They take, they take and they take- that is the only Truth there is and there is no end to it. Even if he is a hero of the war, the saviour of the three realms, going against them will only bring about his fall.

_Run away with me_ , he begs of her.

He grips at her arm with such desperation that all she wants to do is smother herself in his embrace. To say yes and let the world burn; she wants- so badly in ways that he would never understand.

_I can't._

It's the weight of her family name. Her fellow warriors- brothers and sisters in arms, Renji, her brother, a sister she never knew, the Kuchiki's legacy of being custodians, silent observers in a society that delights in overwriting its pasts, pretending like it never happened. There is a collection of cut-off tongues, mounted on the walls of the Archive, displayed over the shelves that hold their precious scrolls- and they call it a hall of fame, show it like it's a badge of honour, a rite of passage for all Kuchikis to strive for.

Kuchikis do not affect change, they record it- passive till the end.

She can't live like that. Neither could she live in a world without her sun.

There is an ancient story told about bear paws and dead fishes; about choosing the lesser evil, about choosing what is important when it becomes impossible to differentiate between wants and needs.

There is nothing to it.

Street urchins like her learn to make hard decisions like one learns to breathe and live with them. Survival- that's all there is to it. Rukia makes her decision, forsaking the world for the sake of keeping him alive. She is swaying on her feet as she pushes him away, hides her grief behind her sleeves of black. The tear stains barely show.

She is walking away, turning her back on a lifetime worth of happiness and the man in her heart.

_Don't do this._

He is on his knees, begging her to reconsider, to take it all back- because how could she give up on them so easily? They belong to each other. There is nothing without her. He doesn't know life to be any other way but this.

She kicks his hand away. Brittle smiles and her voice on the verge of breaking aside, it takes all that she has to drive the knife in deeper, to sever this wretched longing once and for all.

_Renji asked me to marry him._

This is how a heart breaks- with vacant stares, shaking hands, hearts in denial, where there used to be the press of lips against one another there is now only empty spaces-

_I said yes._

A bird may love a fish, but where would they live? She can't condemn him to the fate of being hunted across worlds like a common criminal. He is too good for that.

He is angry, loud in the way he screams and wreaks havoc on the inanimate objects in the room. Angry that she would just give up without a fight- it's the sharpest betrayal he has ever known and completely unexpected from her. He is vicious and grieving and nothing is safe from his wrath.

Glasses break and shatter.

But she doesn't turn back.

Let him hate her. He can hate her all he wants as long as he is safe. He is her heart, her sun and she will do it all for him.

The sacrifices she makes, the rain that she will drown her world in; she begs of the stars, of the moon and the sun in the sky, older than the concept of a king and the evils of men, existing since there were people and souls and the desire to have and to hold - take me, make of me what you will, have me drawn and quartered, staked, burnt at a cross for all my crimes, but spare him.

Fireworks from the town's annual festival light up the night sky and a bonfire roars and cackles as she makes her way back to her world. It's a funeral pyre, she thinks- of them, of beautiful, tender things too good for this world.

She will carry him in her heart always even as worlds burn and starfires streak across the skies, destroying all that once was. It is nothing less than the crime she deserves for breaking him and rendering so many people's happiness unattainable.

The Hogyouku or what remain of its broken remnants answers in earnest. She just doesn't hear the strike of the gavel, the finality of her sentence over the din of her grief and heartbreak.

The price for mercy is remembering and she bears it through and through.

She remembers _everything_.

.

.

.

.

"Miss Kyuugi? Miss Kyuugi?"

_"Rukia, wake up!"_

She is jolted awake by the harsh whisper from Renji. Horrified looks from everyone in the room as her surroundings shift into focus. Pearls of tears- wet and salty are still falling, rendering her notes in inky smudges and wet splotches.

The professor sighs.

"Go and wash your face, Miss Kyuugi."

Perhaps taking pity on her, the older woman is almost gentle as she announces a fifteen minute break for the class.

.

.

Rukia turns on the tap and lets the water run cold. The girl staring back from the mirror is a mess with her tangle of black hair so wild it looks uncombed and her face is pink from all the crying.

Dead Rukia's voice echoes at the back of her mind.

"Now you see?"

Yes, now she sees. She is his weakness, his fall. The curse of remembering is one that she has wrought on herself.

.

_"Why are you so determined to push me away from him?"_

.

Her questions are meaningless because the dead girl is right. She deserves no one- least of all Ichigo whose heart she set to systemically break into smithereens. The way she invited him to her wedding to another man (as her photographer no less), the strawberry motif that Orihime had painstakingly sewn on her veil, Ichika- her daughter who deserved more than an absent mother-

She is the worst. How could she?

In one move, she single-handedly ruined the happiness of so many people, changed their lives for the worse. There's Orihime, there's Ichigo, there's Renji, their children caught in the crossfire, Uryuu, who has already lost so much.

A century's worth of penance wouldn't be able to make up for her actions.

Coward!

For her, Ichigo was willing to storm the halls of literal Gods and she was too afraid to even consider the possibility. Yes, she understands the self-loathing now. To know that things could have turned out so differently if she had only just-

The splash of cold water against her face is clarity rejuvenated. Hollow, mocking laughter bubbling at the back of her throat- What a fool!

There are no star-crossed lovers. Everything comes with a catch. This is how the world works.

And this is the price she pays for her cowardice.

Trembling fingers slide her phone open and before she hesitates, deletes Ichigo's number. She doesn't stop until everything disappears for good.

The finality of her actions doesn't sink in until much later. She goes back to class wooden and numb, drones out the sound of Professor Shihouin's voice as she loses track of time.

She is gone as soon as class is dismissed.

.

.

She gets drunk that night with Rangiku and the two of them drunk-dial Nanao, reminiscing about the time they first became dorm mates, the time Rukia's disastrous cooking almost sent the whole building up in flames, the time they found out that straight-laced Nanao turns into flirty Nanao after two pints of beer, the time Rangiku tried to seduce –

.

" _Sshhh_ ," Rangiku stumbles on her own feet, embarrassingly loud as she falls onto a heap of pillows, "That's too embarrass-ssing. Cut me some slack - _hiccup_ \- it was a truth or dare challenge!"

Rukia giggles, watching Nanao laugh so hard that she chokes on her own spit.

"Rukia, do you - _hiccup_ \- think that we were BFFs in another life too?"

"The bestest."

Her girls are angels and the absolute best.

She snorts. Who needs romance?

What good did _that_ ever do?

.

.

She spends the next morning nursing a hangover. The covers are warm and the weather outside bleak. Rukia stays there buried under a mountain fort of pillows and blankets; unmoving and sleepless until Rangiku trudges over with glasses of water, urging her to drink and stay hydrated.

The day came and went without her even noticing it.

.

.

In the aftermath, she can't bring herself to look Renji straight in the eyes for a solid month. The drive back home for Christmas is awkward for both of them in ways that had never happened before. She feigns sleep for most part of the journey until it is her turn to take over.

Her heart breaks a little every time she catches a glimpse of the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't enjoy writing this chapter. I think it shows.
> 
> How much can a girl pine? *sighs
> 
> Kyuugi is another way to read 朽木 (a.k.a. Kuchiki).
> 
> For full immersive experience, please click on [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6alYSaesuz5b5r8Zx7NuXn?si=l6N2yv1bSM2Ex4klHGqDUw)  
> 


	5. why are you full of rage? because you are full of grief

_Part V_

.

There is no end to her suffering.

Home is a land of perpetual winter, high up in the mountains, and more than a thousand miles from her heart.

Here, Rukia is restless, fidgety in her own skin that has grown too tight and no longer recognizable as hers. A ghost in her own house- seen but not heard as she flits from room to room, footsteps light and soft in her thick socks and slippers, nursing her cup of hot chocolate, never staying in the same room long enough for her parents to involve her in idle chatter, to notice that her mind is somewhere else.

Christmas cheer sweeps through her neighbourhood. The garlands and tinsels- red, gold, silver streamers are so bright it may as well be glaring at her. Yet her world is coloured in shades of blue like the colour of her bedroom walls. Blue like the sadness and feelings of isolation that pull at her even as she is surrounded by festive colours and smiling faces.

.

The glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling are winking at her as she lies awake, counting down the minutes to daybreak. She feels empty inside.

The dreams stopped after the day she came face to face with the dead girl. It seems that the two of them are finally in agreement. Insomnia though is hardly a step up.

She wants to be somewhere else, basking away in the presence of the sun, cradled in someone's arms as she breathes in his scent. She misses Ichi–

She turns over to her side. The curse of his name makes her stir even as the sun outside her blinds is barely peaking. Her mind is quiet but her heart is screaming away in painful yearning. Grabbing a pillow to cover her face, she smothers the silent screams and the careless thoughts.

It shall pass.

.

.

It is her father who first notices something amiss.

A man of few words though, he doesn't fuss- that's her mother's department- never even breathed a word of concern until he's piling her into their family car, bundled in her favourite jumper and bunny-themed gloves.

Slate grey eyes bore deep into hers as he clicks the seat belt in place for her, gently smiling as he tells her.

"Let's go for a drive."

.

Their car stops somewhere just outside the edge of town.

The trees are tall enough to touch the sky and blankets of snow cover all that she sees. She rolls down the car windows. The smell of pine- fresh in the crisp cold air fills her lungs. Out in the wilderness, her problems seem almost insignificant.

She knows what she needs to do. She needs to stop this hopeless pining. She needs to ground herself back into the world of living and let time dull the intensity of her emotions. She can't waste her life away living as a girl suspended between two worlds, crippled by the longings of a dead girl and her guilt.

But it's hard.

The void in her echoes, it wants to be filled; not felt. Anything- she would do anything if only to erase his presence– a complete erasure of him from her mind and her memories.

She turns to face her father- sculptor by trade, a philosophic man taught to find beauty in life's imperfections and share that vision with the world.

Coral pink cherry blossoms- dusky along the edges of the petals, are bright and beautiful on a branch that treads and wounds across his pale wrist; the dark chestnut contrasting strikingly against the lines of his blue-green veins. Flowers budding, blooming, wilting all in the same breath- life and its essence encapsulated. Some people are born wise beyond their years.

Her mother on the other hand, doesn't have a mark.

.

"Do you ever think about it? The soul mate you could have ended up with if you hadn't met mom."

A part of her feels petty for even asking. Her parents have been married- happily so- for the past twenty odd years. It is not her intention to stir up old regrets or drive them apart. It's just curiosity- something that has been bothering her since she first learned the existence of soul mates.

His look is thoughtful, finger tracing the mark as he frowns.

"Sometimes, in the same vein of thought as one would if he should have chosen another career, given a different start in life. Is that what's bothering you? Your soul mate? That boy in your dreams?"

Her admittance is in the furrowing of her brows and the tightening of her lips. She does not speak.

"But you are unhappy. Why?"

Words are hard; verbalizing her thoughts and emotions even harder.

"How can we- Why do people fall in love with their soul mates like it's something expected of them? People like to say how it's all so romantic. But how can we really claim to love someone- to be someone's soul mate when all we seem to do is hurt them?"

Rukia's fists clench. Her anger comes harsher and sharper than expected, simmering past boiling point from the futility of feelings and long sleepless nights.

"I think it's _stupid_! This whole thing is just _stupid_! Love is _stupid_ and it _hurts_ and people are so wrong in romanticizing suffering. Everything hurts and I am so _angry_ \- so angry because I can't- I don't deserve him. I hurt him! I hurt him unnecessarily, cruelly- all because I was too afraid. Too afraid to take a chance and be with him- I just- I just- gave it all up- forfeited happiness- and I _broke_ him. Not just him- so many other innocent people- I made their lives miserable. How am I supposed to just move on from that, to accept that he is still my soul mate and be happy?"

Her breath chokes, "I can't be happy like that. I don't- I can't forgive myself but- but- all I want to do is to go to him."

Tears wet the sleeves of her jumper. What a mess she is, she thinks- how weak and desperate this obsession of hers has turned her into, "I- I can't believe I'm crying. Crying like I'm some stupid lovesick teenager over a boy. I'm supposed to be smarter than this. You raised me better than this."

Her father hands her a Kleenex, watches her blow her nose noisily.

"We are all fools in love, Rukia. Your yearning does not make you weak. It is human to want and the pursuit of happiness is doubly so. It is how we move forward. We all deserve to be happy."

"Not me," she grouses pitifully, "If you knew half of the things that I did to him then you wouldn't think that I dese-"

"But I don't know the things that you did," her father explains, his thumb swiping away her tears, "Those terrible things that you claim to have done- those belong in the past. You aren't that girl. Not anymore. In this life, you are my daughter and I raised you. I know you, Rukia- my daughter and my pride. To me, you will always be deserving- of love, of happiness."

"No! You don't understand!"

.

Rukia raises her voice. Tears flowing freely as she surprises him with her outburst.

"He doesn't know me! He doesn't even _remember_!"

There's a hint of bitterness to her as she rages– "It's not fair that I have all this memory of us in a different time and he doesn't. How can he love me the way I love him? It wouldn't be the same! He'll grow tired of me- hate me when he realizes the truth. What if–" she gulps– "what if _I'm_ the one who's disappointed?"

"Disappointment comes from not having expectations met. Start over then, make new memories with him," he shrugs, "Be patient. Grow together with him. Take away all this magical skin glowing effect when you touch; what does having a soul mate truly mean? I think we read too much into it sometimes. It overshadows the individual effort put into maintaining the bond. Life is about making choices. At the end of the day it's two people- strangers making a conscious decision to be with each other and do right by each other, to keep doing it until the day they die."

"I'm only going to hurt him again! It seems to be the only thing that I'm good at. If there is a way I can make myself stop- I would but then I don't know how to. I just keep doing this to him, to myself, to us. I keep yearning for him and pushing him away an-"

"Stop– Stop thinking and _do_ better."

"H-How?" she asks, wringing the hands in her lap, "how can I do better by him?"

"You know how– By being brave. By learning to trust him. By swearing to do your best every day. Talk to him. Show him your heart and not repeat the mistakes of your past. It is the only way we grow, Rukia," he tells her solemnly.

"Fight for him, Rukia. Fight to be with him this time."

A sliver of sunlight streaks gold on his face and there is a lifetime-worth of experience ringing in his words, "Soul mates aren't just found; they're also made. The bond is forged just like all other relationships. There is no shortcut to it. Sometimes the love you pour into it might not even be reciprocated but we simply have to accept that people aren't perfect and that love comes in many forms."

"Just because they don't love you in the way that you want them to doesn't always mean that they don't love you. And maybe you won't end up with your soul mate _but it's okay_. Our life paths are just intersecting lines with each other; the only difference being for how long we run parallel to each other before we meet and for how long we stay intersected before we separate again. Just because you found them- it's not a guarantee that they'll stay forever."

He sighs, tucking her stray band behind her ear, "I'm not going to tell you lies – that if you two are truly meant to be, then things will somehow work themselves out. No! I'm telling you that it takes courage. It's a conscious effort and hard work to consistently show up and show them that you care but that's life. Nothing that comes easy is worth having."

The look he gives her is meaningful in the way sunlight gives meaning to flowers. There is hope blooming through the cracks of grief and anger.

"If you want something so badly that you can't imagine life without it then fight for it. Fight for what you believe in!"

The weight on her chest shifts- only a little but it is a start. There is realization and new-found acceptance. Just like how the moon waxes and wanes, and nature dies to be rebirthed, everything on this Earth has a time and purpose. Anything that outlives either or both is haunted and more than a little cursed.

A dead girl's love at its core is just curdled milk long past its expiration date.

It's time to move on and to let _her_ go. Accept that in another life, things hadn't gone the way they should have with Ichigo but she can't keep dwelling on what didn't happen. She can still rewrite the ending for _this_ story and it starts from this very moment.

Not by living as the lukewarm embers of a dead girl's passion- a love unchecked and untried that has turned cancerous with time, or as the girl suspended between two realities, pulled at both directions but never comfortable in neither.

.

There is only Rukia- university student in her twenties, ordinary, mundane and human in her weakness for love, but alive and growing.

She exists in this world- loved and cherished.

She is deserving of happiness.

She is worthy of love.

She has a soul mate and she can begin again with Ichigo. It's not too late yet to change.

.

Somewhere in the hollow recesses of her mind a dead girl falls to her knees. Tears form. A crack runs diagonally across her icy mask as she holds herself steady by the weight of her sword.

The flap of a butterfly's wings–

.

_Thank you, Nii-sama._

.

.

.

"Surprise!"

As soon as she opened the front door to the house, she is tackled fiercely and tightly. Recognition dawns. The smell of Rangiku's floral-scented perfume is telling and her hold nearly impossible to shake off.

"C-Can't breathe!"

"Ran, let her go! Any tighter and you're going to kill her."

"Nanao!"

Rukia's eyes widen in surprise.

How?

Nanao isn't supposed to be back until school restarts. Something about her not being able to purchase the flight tickets on time. She turns to Rangiku who gives a sly wink in response, "It's a Christmas miracle. There was a last minute change to her original flight and they offered her an earlier flight instead."

The blonde relaxes her hold by just a fraction so the bespectacled girl can join in on the group hug. It feels surreal. They video-call Nanao so frequently that it never truly felt like the woman is half the world away, but seeing her- feeling the warmth of Nanao's embrace with Rangiku's laughter in her ears brought tears to Rukia's eyes.

The trio is complete again and how she missed Nanao- sarcasm and all, wit beyond measure and the voice of reason within their group.

"How?"

"It's Hime's idea," trills Rangiku in a singsong voice as she pushes the embarrassed redhead out from the depths of the kitchen. Patches of white flour cover her even in her hair and she looks sheepish, stands a little to the side- shy and unsure with her fidgety hands.

She gulps and the floodgates open.

"I'm s-so s-sorry. I was a bitch to you- it was uncalled for and you didn't deserve it and I realized that what I did was terrible and- and you deserve a better friend than me- I mean- like I don't even know what came over me and I-I- I was embarrassed and angry and I-I took it ou-"

Rukia cuts her short by enveloping her into a tight hug. Seeing Orihime in the flesh and having her actually speaking to her again feels like nothing short of a miracle. She thought that their fallout had rendered their friendship irreparable and broken.

"Oi! Don't forget about me! I'm the one who actually did all the heavy-lifting, you know. You girls wouldn't even be here if I didn't pick you up from the airport!"

"Oh hush Renji! Just shut up and join in on the group hug!"

There's a loud grumble coming from Renji before he begrudgingly takes up Rangiku's offer and his warmth is added to the pile.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kyuugi, you're more than welcome to join in too!"

Rukia laughs; lost for words and her heart so impossibly full as she relishes the bonds of sisterhood and friendship. It feels wonderful to have them here, to be with family and friends.

She knows now. They are not the same people they once were and it is pointless to hold themselves accountable, to be punished for being happy.

They are so much warmer, brighter- made better simply by existing.

That is the strength of the human heart.

.

.

.

"Now you see?"

How human it is to be made a woman: to dream, to yearn and to _love_.

When she comes face-to-face with dead Rukia again, Ichigo's presence is still missed but the ache settles into something bearable under her skin. She can live with this-

_Almost._

\- This void filled by the love of many, forgiveness and acceptance.

Rukia greets her like a long-lost friend and holds her tight. She sees the dead girl and her grief, all her mistakes in another life and all the things that had gone wrong and tells her.

"It's ok. I forgive you."

To the ghost held back by fear- the fear of reaching out, of showing weakness, Rukia accepts her for all her shortcoming and faults and loves her despite it all.

The blade shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for the last chapter so here– have some Christmas magic in August. Yes I am 100% that bitch.
> 
> As always:   
>  [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6alYSaesuz5b5r8Zx7NuXn?si=l6N2yv1bSM2Ex4klHGqDUw)  
> 


	6. east of the sun, west of the moon

_Part VI_

.

_"What have you done to your hair?!"_

Rangiku looks scandalised- dramatically so. The soup ladle in her hand clatters to the floor when the blonde sees her entering through the front door with her heavy luggage.

Rukia twirls the end of it nervously. It barely covers her ears. The pixie-cut is still something that she will need getting used to but the absence of her heavy, thick shoulder-length makes her feel almost like a different woman.

"Is it too short?"

She winces. The new haircut is a spontaneous decision made the day after the girls left and even though her hair stylist is adamant that the new hair style complemented the shape of her face just fine, this is the shortest her hair has ever been and Rukia is just a tad self-conscious about it.

Rangiku rolls her eyes.

" _Pshhh! Is it too short she asks-_ **RUKIA!** Have you looked yourself in the mirror? It frames your face so nicely!–" She drags Rukia over to the bathroom mirror, gesturing animatedly– "Look at how it makes your gorgeous cheekbones and the collarbones pop! Ha! Ichigo is not going to know what hit him!"

Rukia laughs. Trust Rangiku to know just the right things to say.

"Now let's go and find that hunk of yours and get this soul mate business done and over with!"

.

.

.

–which turns out to be _much_ harder than expected.

They've spent the past three days feeling like idiots, looking for him in places both high and low, from cafeterias to research labs, from the galleries to the fields, from the libraries to the lecture theatres; with nothing to show for. She even blackmailed Renji into checking the men's toilets and gym shower stalls.

They hadn't even seen a glimpse of his shadow- let alone a tuft of orange hair!

"Just how big can this campus be?"

Rangiku's question is plenty rhetorical. There are 217 acres of university grounds to cover between the three of them and the annual enrolment of university students number in the ten thousands.

"But your buildings are literally right next to each other!"

Nanao makes a fair point. The University Medical Center is four minutes- seven at most if you took the detour from the water fountain- on foot from the Department of Astronomy and Astrophysics.

The truth is harsh but maybe Ichigo simply doesn't want to be found.

Least of all by her.

Rukia sighs. She refuses to sit idly by- not today and not on her watch. She's sick of waiting.

There's only one thing left to do.

She takes it as a sign when the girl picks up on the first ring.

"Hello Hime?"

.

.

.

"So you're a stalker now?"

Her head shoots up. She supposed that it does look a little like that with her sitting at the doorstep in front of his house, bundled in her thickest winter coat and gloves.

The tip of her nose is pink and she's pretty sure there's a line of snot running down from her nose. In hindsight, it might not even have been the best decision to cut her thick hair short the week before.

But he looks worse by comparison. His chest is heaving; cheeks pink like he had spent the last few minutes running a marathon. When his breathing steadies, he's scowling at her and her heart races.

"Were you just going to sit there and freeze to death if Yuzu hadn't called to say that there's someone suspicious lingering in front of the house?"

She winces.

"I-I guess I didn't really think it through."

He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, no shit, Einstein. How did you even know where I live?"

The smile she gives him is more than a little sheepish, "Orihime."

"I should have known. So what have you got to say for yourself- _you_ stood me up."

She snorts, brushing the snow off her clothes.

"Hate to break it to you, _Einstein_ but that was not a date. You didn't ask me out. It's a group outing- a volunteering effort maybe but not a date."

A sigh.

"You got me-" he is shrugging as the tension in the set of his shoulder melts away. He hides his hands in the depths of his pocket, wryly grinning- "But it would have been nice to at least text or whatsapp me. To let me know you weren't coming."

"I deleted your number."

"By accident?"

She bites the inside of her cheek.

"N-No."

"Why?"

"Because I was afraid."

He sighs.

"Contrary to popular belief, I am only human you know? Two hands, two feet? Normal teeth? What are you so afraid of Rukia?"

Oh of everything, her mind whispers- of you. Of loving you, of losing you; of falling in love with you, of falling out of love with you but you- the very presence of you is the scariest.

.

"What if I told you that we've met before? Before this? Before that day in the coffee shop?"

The howl of cold winter air drifts and Rukia takes the first step towards him.

"What if I told you that reincarnation is real and that in another life we were together? But I screwed up. I want us to be better this time. I _know_ that we can be so happy together. Are you willing to let me prove it to you?"

His face blanks and Rukia's heart lurches in the suspense. Her fists clench tight, nails biting into the skin of her palm.

She's such an idiot! What did she think was going to happen?

"You must think I'm crazy. I-I'll leave. S-Sorry for the trouble. Please tell Yuzu that I didn't mean to act like a weirdo and scare her and I'm sorr-"

"Hang on! Why are you always in such a rush to jump to conclusions? I haven't even told you my answer yet!"

She gulps.

"W-Well what do you think then?"

"I think that's the most original pick-up line that I've ever heard."

She feels like smacking him.

"Be serious!"

"But I am. I'm also being 100% serious when I tell you that I fell for it. So I'd like to ask you out. We can talk about this over coffee. I think we might even be able to compare notes later."

"Compare notes? On what?"

He shrugs.

"Maybe there's a story that I've wanted to tell you since the day we met. About a boy who started losing the ability to see colours when he turned fifteen, a boy who almost caused a road accident when he saw oranges- goddamn _oranges_ of all things!- tumbling down the street because they were the first splash of colour he's ever seen since fuck knows when. And then the idiot decides to follow this crazy redhead into a café against his better judgement."

"What happens next?"

"Oh the typical stuff. Boy meets soul mate, star burst worth of colours flooding back into his world, thinks that said soul mate hates him, makes an absolute fool of himself trying to woo her. You know- typical boring stuff."

She is breathless.

He reaches for her- gloveless fingers curl around her wrist. There is a spot just below it, left uncovered by her gloves and the sleeves of her coat.

"You knew?"

Her breath hitches and she thinks she sees the outline of his mark shining- golden and bright even underneath his clothes. Her own burns pleasantly in response, her heart sings and aches as tears roll down her cheeks- dumbfounded by the turn of events.

"Midget- I have always known."

.

Their lips meet in the backdrop of the setting sun and rising moon.

It's Astronomy 101, she thinks as she melts into his warmth.

The Sun is also a star and how brightly this one shines for her.

.

.

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_The End_

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Ichigo know? That Rukia is his soul mate? That he remembers too? I leave it to you.
> 
> I feel like I need to do a bit of explanation here about the prompt. In the Norwegian fairy tale, our female protagonist betrayed her prince and is made to complete some impossible tasks to earn him back. The first part of the hurdle is actually finding her prince which she succeeds with the help of the Four Winds.
> 
> If you hadn't known about the fairy tale before and wish to read more about it: fairy-tales-east-of-the-sun-and-west-of-the-moon-by-asbjornsen-and-moe/ (this is my favourite version- read on till the end please!)
> 
> Or better yet go check out ["Go East"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25766158) by AriadneKurosaki on ao3!
> 
> [Pixie-cut! Rukia](https://hashtagartistlife.tumblr.com/post/613918053658427392/kr-mutual-drew-pixie-cut-rukia-and-i-might-have) is definitely inspired by Sera (hashtagartistlife). Insert obligatory: 'Sempai! Please step on me' meme.


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